Magician's Code
by Crow-Black Dream
Summary: "Life in the Past Lane" seen through the eyes of Stacy and Upchuck. [COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I do not own any rights to Daria, just this story. Please pardon any typos or errors.

 _ **Magician's Code**_

 _ **by Crow-Black Dream**_

 **1**

Charles "Upchuck" Ruttheimer III was and always had been too poetic for most people. Partnered with flaming red curls and freckles peppering his large dimpled cheeks, this tendency toward speaking in flowery prose proved too much for any one of his peers for as long as he could remember, regardless of his inherent cheerful disposition.

Much of the free time in his life was given to various hobbies. Beginning at age five he kept a journal filled with daily routines, his own lyrical musings, and the occasional drawing or pasted magazine clipping. Next he discovered the work of adult authors, books above and beyond the drab texts he learned by rote. Dabbling in various topics of history led to a greater thirst for knowledge of medieval times. The lifestyles, the fashions, the poetry of the bards, the cartloads of bloated bubonic dead. He took on any of this reading material from the downtown library every Wednesday. After noticing this pattern his mother surprised Charles with tickets when the annual renaissance fair came to town in nearby Highland. Until this moment in his nine years on earth he had never been aware of such a magical space. In his new eyes this was a band of nomads staking their turf for a handful of precious days to masquerade where time and true medieval horrors were suspended, to raise tents carrying their mystical goods, to dazzle crowds with their yellow-talon birds of prey, to tilt full speed at one another atop horses with armor and shields and lances.

Alongside the jousting ring Charles discovered the callous taunts of a jester cavorting about the fairgrounds, heckling plainclothes passerby. His devil-may-care attitude and his mandolin enchanted Charles, who resolved right then and there that this was the person he wanted to be in life. He resonated with the Fool; he saw it most in the lofty vocabulary and biting satire. There was a certain resilience to be admired in the way the man in the jingling hat took the crowd's eye rolls and dismissal with good humor. From that day forward the boy took it upon himself to sharpen his tongue with velvet words. Better to make a point of eloquence in his defenses against playground taunts.

That didn't save him from the unforgettable name Upchuck one fateful day in third grade when he vomited all over the classroom floor before he could make it to the bathroom, thus casting him further out as a social pariah.

On his tenth birthday he received a mandolin. Of course he was clumsy at first. During occasional family gatherings his uncle Leo showed him the basics on his guitar. It was not the same instrument, Leo said, but the basics translate. Soon enough Charles had developed an ear for it and the doubly remarkable skill of pairing the music with limericks of his own craft.

It was during his freshman year that he discovered a dusty side-street magic shop full of more flash and deceptive plastic than one could shake a stick at. There were, of course, books on illusionary magic involving household items such as handkerchiefs and real money. It was a favorite point of interest on his frequent walkabouts. He often stopped in to learn tricks from a husband and wife duo who had been illusionists in their younger days, and on allowance day he never failed to appear with cash in hand.

He practiced until confident in his abilities, and when his mother became bored of his antics he sought out an audience at what he assumed to be the best gathering place outside the confines of school: the mall. There he set up the box serving as his workspace outside the Cashman's entrance, was hassled by head of security, and slipped him a simple twenty dollars to shoo him away. Carefully he cleared his voice before raising it in a call, "Ladies and gentlemen! You have seen David Copperfield and his, and no doubt you wished for more! May I present to you a chance to marvel without the aid of a television set! Ruttheimer the Prodigitator at your service!"

He slipped the top hat from his head, turned it over and summoned a puff of smoke from within using only a flick of his fingers. This certainly grabbed attention. Grinning, he replaced his hat and continued right into his next trick with smoke tendrils still creeping through his hair. And so began his random Saturday afternoon routine of setting up his magic space outside the mall to wow and extort the general public. When the head of security worked he took a fee; when he did not work it was understood that Charles was to be left alone by the other guards. Eventually he took to setting up in other locations around town.

One Saturday Mr. DeMartino caught him outside the video rental store, began to denounce the boy, then was appeased with a bribe when Charles realized how useful it would be to have a two-man con. The next Saturday they worked together at Cashman's. Mr. DeMartino proved to be an excellent sidekick even if his acting seemed a little forced to Charles. He helped Ruttheimer the Prodigitator round up seventy dollars, took his cut and was gone.

Charles turned his head at the sound of that which he had not mastered, that which did not bend to his will. The fairer sex. The laughter, ah yes, that was what he adored most about them. He certainly did not elicit that reaction enough.

It was the self-proclaimed Fashion Club, though he sometimes failed to see what set them apart from the other upper echelons of Lawndale High. It seemed they limited their acceptable wardrobes to the point of revolving through the same basic outfits. Not that it mattered much to Charles. They had their interests, he had his.

If his magic failed to charm them, no matter. Many unseen opportunities lie ahead.

 _++To be continued++_


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

From age three Stacy Rowe had used fashion to connect with others. Her older sisters wanted nothing to do with her aside from dressing her up like a doll and would send her away if she became too fussy. By the time they both left for college when she was in the fourth grade she had developed a keen eye to clothing detail and an inferiority complex that their infrequent visits did nothing to ease. That same year her pet lab Hershey made his escape under the backyard fence and into the path of an oncoming Dodge. She was lucky enough to miss it, as it had happened during school hours. Rather than tell her the gruesome truth Stacy's parents left the mystery open with a white lie: Hershey had gotten out, never to be seen again. It was the final act that left the young girl feeling perpetually sub-standard and alone. Some nights she lay awake, gazing into the starred void outside her attic bedroom window, wondering if her sisters and her dog would ever come home for good.

It was about this time Mr. & Mrs. Rowe noticed an all-time high in their daughter's anxiety. They were normal people to the point of obsession., raised with the notion that problems were to be dealt with individually and quietly. Sweep it all under the rug, such as the case with Hershey. They did not know how to reach their daughter, nor did they think anything worthwhile of therapy. And so they went on worrying, lost, until one day when Meredith Rowe noticed Stacy enraptured in a televised ice skating exhibition. With a bit of questioning she gave her daughter the encouragement to try skating lessons herself, and the next day following a telephone call to the ice rink they were off to the sporting goods store. There Stacy selected her first pair of skates, a delectable shade of robin's egg blue. She looked up at the vibrant rhinestone outfits, wanted one, was told she would have one when she had learned a bit.

Stacy took to the ice naturally. Her balance was graceful from the beginning, she handled turns and spins with little difficulty, and it was not long before she was in the occasional exhibition for amateurs. At last she had earned three uniforms, and she skated and she spun and she sparkled.

It wasn't long before the anxiety began to creep back in. Stacy agonized in her mind though these skate gatherings held no official competition. Watching other girls at practice was bad enough, now this exhibition. She judged the moves of her peers, looked on enviously at the older and more experienced girls. By the time she was eleven she was watching couples skate and longing for a boy's hands on her waist.

Stacy had existed unaware of social structure until fifth grade when kids began showing favoritism in picking teams for sports. Boys asked out girls; their 'relationships' involved nothing more than increased friendliness at school and the rare playground kiss, but Stacy had none of it. She began to wonder if she was pretty, began to study model hairstyles in magazines to try for herself.

Middle school followed its typical hellish course. First week of sixth grade was a rude awakening among the integrated classes of neighboring elementary schools, most of all during the forced social mingling of the lunch room. Here everyone eyed each other. Groups eventually gravitated and formed like small galaxies while lone students drifted along unclaimed territory. She found herself under constant scrutiny for her clothes, what she said. Being called to answer a question in class was painful, especially if she didn't know the answer. Twice the math teacher attempted to walk the girl through the steps of problems and ultimately gave up when she began to weep in anxious terror. The other students found humor in this. After a while Stacy began faking stomachaches to escape and take a nap in the nurse's office.

All the while, she had her ice skates.

Until late in seventh grade. She had been insinuating herself into the fringes of middle school's higher social circles with little contributions to celebrity gossip and this season's colors thanks to a slew of fashion magazines. The cheerleaders liked her, the jock girls liked her. She could make her way along the lunch tables unscathed.

Relatively so. The heartless Sandi Griffin judged and ridiculed all. Stacy was certainly no exception. Her abrasive nature challenged Stacy's subconscious need for acceptance, which drove the meeker girl to work toward any avenue of friendship. That pivotal day revealed itself in the form of a verbal jab at the substitute teacher.

"Ugh, those Mary Janes are the worst," Sandi remarked with an eye roll to Tiffany, her slow-witted cohort. It was her usual running commentary broadcast loud enough for others to hear.

Tiffany opened her mouth to say something but Stacy leaned over from the next aisle and giggled, "Yeah, doesn't she know chunky heels are out this year?"

"And that shade of brown!" Sandi shook her head with her arms crossed over her chest; a bizarre form of approval. That little comment led to an invitation to sit with her and Tiffany at lunch, where they all sat appraising student body outfits. That night Stacy collapsed on her bed in a giggling fit, thrilled to have real friends at last.

Within a week the new 'friendship' began to settle. The Griffin girl began to comprehend how well-liked her new minion was. Her meddlesome mind dreamed of different ways to divert popular attention from Stacy, but no situation could be played out without Sandi coming out looking like the villain.

Instead she struck out in another way. Mall meetings were possible only on certain days due to Stacy's practice schedule. The sport was never discussed among the three of them until the day Sandi made her move. With the help of a TV Guide she discovered a skating competition being televised on the Sunday Sports Showcase. The TV channel was set with the volume on low during their afternoon gathering in the Griffin household. They gushed over new fabric prints, and Sandi couldn't help noticing Stacy's eyes floating to the television again and again. She turned and watched too, fighting back the urge to say her bit too soon. At last she smiled her malicious little smile and said, "Wow, those girls are so talented. It's too bad they dress them like show ponies. It's tragic, really."

Stacy's face crumpled with a gasp.

"This big plastic sparkles are so, what's the word? Gaudy. I'm sorry, but that electric pink and that ivory white do _not_ match."

"Ewww," Tiffany offered in agreement.

Stacy kept her face turned away as she scrambled to her feet. "I have to use your bathroom. Be right back."

The psychosomatic reaction was beginning to manifest. Any vague feeling of rejection brought on stomach flutters, cold sweats and weak knees. Soon she would be hyperventilating. Now it was just a matter of getting to the privacy of a bathroom in time. Once inside the room she shut the door and sank down against the wall, trying her best to breathe with her knees drawn up to her chest.

Sandi hadn't directly called her a show pony, but she might as well have. Surely she had seen the professional photos hanging on the walls at the Rowe house. Surely she had seen her skates hanging in the closet. Stacy closed her eyes and imagined how she must look to spectators: whirling around like an idiot dressed in obnoxious colors. The thought of her favorite blue plume headband made her wish for death to escape the embarrassment. She really did look like a show pony! All at once her dreams crashed down around her in a paranoid delusion of judgment.

She rocked back and forth, crying and trying to catch her breath.

So, the question was, now what? The answer was simple to Stacy. Rather than get up and walk away from Sandi's sniping comments forever, she left abruptly under the pretenses of a stomachache while trying to hide her runny mascara, waited until returning home to announce tearfully that she had come to hate ice skating and would not go to another single practice. Her parents sensed her decision was not entirely justified and met this news with insistence that she finish out the year. She wouldn't budge, however, and she left her mother the burden of calling the coach to cancel practices mid-season.

Stacy never said a word of this to Sandi. The only way Sandi knew was from the sense of melancholy hanging around her friend for several weeks. Without truly comprehending what she had done, Stacy had resigned herself to following Sandi's orders, taking Sandi's abuse.

It was somewhere in this haze when Sandi began insisting on a hierarchy complete with a title: The Fashion Club. Stacy was designated secretary when she discovered she was quite good at taking minutes and organizing notes for future reference. After a while she forgot about skating.

Life brightened when Quinn Morgendorfer made her Lawndale debut in ninth grade. She was sweet if not rather self-centered (a notion that never entered Stacy's conscious thoughts), the amalgamation of redheaded teenage good looks and optimistic approachability that earned Quinn the oft-heard title of 'cute.' She served as a buffer between Stacy and Sandi, usually checking the latter with comments set to diffuse even the tensest situations within the Fashion Club.

Stacy sailed on an even keel for quite some time, rocked once by her breakup with Bobby Brownstein, but otherwise went on trying to live contentedly each day. In April of junior year the melancholia began again. She wouldn't have been able to name the cause if she had thought about it. Perhaps it was tedium, perhaps it was typical low-grade teen angst, perhaps it was a growing awareness of domination from her oldest friend. Whatever the cause, she had trouble finding joy in anything. Some days the routine of life was a march through the hours. She stepped on, unaware of her own depression.

"Beauteous maidens, may I show you something that will astound and amaze?"

The Fashion Club had been trooping up the sidewalk to Cashman's past a folding table and vibrant cardboard sign. Upchuck was wearing some obscene spandex affair and hassling passerby for attention. It was no surprise he had called out to them; they knew they were irresistible.

"Only if it's a disappearing act," Sandi stopped to pose with one hand on her hip and a disdainful look over her shoulder.

"No, a feat of illusion," Upchuck smiled wanly.

"Like contouring your nose to make it look thin?" Tiffany struggled to understand what he meant. When Quinn and Stacy gasped at the idea, she shook her head, "Not me."

"Please! Spare just a moment to behold my astonishing magic skills."

"Make it fast, Charles. I don't want to be caught in the midday cosmetics counter crush."

"Observe! Genuine American currency, which I shall now tear into tiny pieces!" Here Upchuck held Mr. O'Neill's conned ten for all to see just before ripping into it.

"That is most certainly illegal." She simply could not go without making a remark.

"But wait! By the commanding of my virile presence, the bill is restored!" And with a flick of his wrists and a fan of his fingers, he held up the intact money.

It was the strangest thing Stacy had seen in a long time.

"Truly astonishing," Sandi had already taken on a dismissive pose with her arms crossed.

"But how did he do it?" Stacy couldn't stop staring. Upchuck noticed this genuine curiosity and let loose one of his lecherous smiles.

"Oh Stacy, you are so gullible. He obviously used mirrors or something." Sandi's tone was more patronizing than ever, but her underling barely noticed. She was still trying to figure out what had happened.

"Besides, it's just a ten. It's not like it was a fifty or anything," Quinn wasn't impressed either.

"C'mon," the Fashion Club president turned on her heels and started for the building, "let's go make some real money disappear."

She cackled with Quinn and Tiffany as they headed inside. Stacy stood where she was a moment longer, looking at Upchuck working his charm on a new crowd.

He had learned to look into the eyes of his audience as they cast their unguarded gaze to the distraction he played out before them. In this quartet he saw three of them rooted by the sight of shredded money. One pair of eyes, doe-like and cornflower-blue, watched the flow and roll of his hands, trying to determine what was actually happening.

 _++To be continued++_


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Try as she might, Stacy could not figure out how money could be torn apart and reassembled. It was probably a different bill altogether, sure, but she still couldn't figure out what trick was involved. It bothered her as she made her rounds through the Lawndale mall sales racks, as she lay in bed trying to shut out the world before sleep. It was still bothering her Monday afternoon. The curiosity had faded to the background of her mind, persisting in sharp little bursts every now and then. The second Upchuck walked in to take his seat for Mr. O'Neill's class she was victim to curiosity all over again.

The students had been charged with reading a chapter and taking notes on things she didn't understand like _themes_ and _motifs_. As far as she was concerned those things were related to interior design. The Fashion Club was gathered in the usual rear corner of the desks where they all had a magazine tucked among their books and notes. It was too quiet to talk, so rather than actually work they all stared into the high-gloss photographs.

Stacy had already read this copy of Seventeen. She blindly switched off her latest issue of Crush with Tiffany, who had handed her this. By now she had already acquired the strawberry pink gloss on page 86, and the yellow knee-length skirt on page 113. For a little while she attempted to be a good student. Reluctantly she picked up her copy of The Metamorphosis and read. There was too much talk of bugs and filth for her liking. What little reading material she could digest was highly uncomfortable. It certainly didn't help that she hadn't paid attention when Mr. O'Neill spoke about the book's metaphors and the requirements for the essay. It was no use, she was too distracted to read. Soon enough she found herself drawing little butterflies and ladybugs and flowers and spirals in the notebook margin, and laid her pen down on the paper. A quick glance revealed Upchuck leaning against the arm of his desk, chin propped in one hand, the book in the other. One more look and she could barely stand the days that the questions had needled away at her.

She put her pen to the paper, hesitated as she always did before writing in order to gather her words. At last she wrote in high, bubbly letters:

 _Upchuck-_

 _How did you tear apart money and put it back together? I can't figure it out._

 _~Stacy_

Swiftly she tore it out along with the next piece of paper, crumbling the second one into a ball while placing the first face-down on the desk. Sandi looked up once disapprovingly, or perhaps it was just her usual scowl, before delving back into next season's nail polish colors.

Stacy discreetly folded the paper into diminishing rectangles until it fit into the palm of her hand. Suddenly she was undeniably nervous. She had done this before, but this was Upchuck. She worried about the implications, she worried about her friends seeing. For several minutes she wasn't sure if she could do it at all.

It wasn't until she risked one more nerve-addled glance at the redhead that she decided to be bold. He had shifted from the half-bored position with chin in hand to sitting upright, still holding the book with one hand, now rolling a pen deftly between his fingers before slyly tucking it out of sight in his shirt cuff and rolling his empty fingers away. From where she stood she could only see the pen disappear.

Stacy elbowed the crumpled paper off her desk onto the floor. Without looking up from her magazine Quinn scooped up the paper and handed it back to her. She got up and made her way toward the trash can, casually planted the note on Upchuck's desk on the way back and kept her eyes down. She sensed enough of a flinch to know that he had seen it.

For his part, Charles leaned and put his elbow over the folded paper. His heart leaped in his chest, and for one moment he thought the whole class would hear it. He was in the nervous throes of role reversal; he had sent many a poetic love letter in his time, all rejected. He had never even received a prank letter just as he feared this was. Yet it was a saccharine beauty who had left this for him, a fair bloom too pure to be cruel despite her place among the thorny roses she called friends. His heart dared to hope.

Now the curiosity clawed at him too, especially when he could sense her staring at him. He drew a patient breath and sighed through his nose.

 _You can wait,_ he told himself. _Don't give yourself away here._

He waited for the final three minutes Mr. O'Neill had reserved for packing up and assigning homework. In the shuffle of papers he unfolded the note and read it twice before fully comprehending. He had been expecting some declaration of love, facetious or not. The lack thereof derailed his mental faculties for a moment.

The bell rang. Students shuffled out, particularly hurried now that the school day was at its end.

The Fashion Club members were eager to get home. It was one of their late mall meeting days, therefore everyone reported home early to accomplish chores and outfit changes. Knowing this, Stacy feigned another accident by picking up her unzipped bag by the wrong end.

The Fashion Club president stepped over the fallen papers and kept heading for the door. "Stacy, you are _such_ a klutz. Hopefully you can get your act together by tonight's meeting. We don't need to be causing a scene now, do we?"

"No, Sandi." Despite her clumsiness having its intended effect, the girl's words stung.

"Right. Well, see you tonight."

Without offering to help or wait, her friends were gone. By sheer luck, or perhaps not, Upchuck was still here. Slowly he organized his schoolwork in his binder just long enough for the others to leave before getting up to help her gather the tumbled books.

To Stacy's astonishment she found the act to be incredibly sweet. "Th-Thank you…"

"Of course, tis something any righteous human would do."

Then she remembered the question of the note. Patiently she awaited an answer and got nothing more than a trademark Upchuck leer in return. She cringed a little, deciding this was all a bad idea. He recognized her regretful body language and changed his own, doing away with the grin. Deciding this was best out of Mr. O'Neill's earshot, he made a grand gesture toward the open door. They made it as far as the next classroom before speaking.

"Dear heart, I never thought a lass with such high tastes would be so taken with my wiles as a magician."

"Well I've seen magic shows on TV but never in person so I've never been able to get close enough to really see what's going on. Now that I did I have so many questions, and it was just that one trick!"

"I wish I could quench your curiosity, my pet. But I cannot reveal my secrets; it's magician's code."

"But I have to know how you did it! I can't get it out of my mind!"

"I know the feeling. There's so many things I can't get out of _my_ mind," Upchuck said with that trademark smile creeping back onto his face. His eyes drifted over Stacy's figure, over her face, a face that had until this day showed him very little attention. The look on that face was comical as he went on, "That dream about the mermaids and the fudge sauce, for example…"

Stacy was so involved with this conversation she didn't even notice the Fashion Club nearby at their lockers. Had she seen them she would've broken the conversation off mid-sentence and fled out the door. As it was, she didn't register them and they mistook her for another leggy brunette.

"Tell you what," Charles pushed the door open for her and followed her out into the sunshine. "There are certain stunts that I cannot perform alone. I need someone to trust, someone unafraid of intimacy during the act. A partner."

He lifted one eyebrow at her. She knew he spoke in innuendoes but she could not help the feeling that he was suggesting something more.

Sensing her hesitation he shifted quickly. "I need an assistant. It would allow me a greater range of tricks and it's something I have yearned for, though I never considered that it would actually happen. Yet here you are, the fine embodiment of my wish. What wondrous thing have I done for the stars to grant me such a favor? I know not, and I am gracious all the same! Tell me you will work with me, Stacy!"

Here she began to flounder. He kept on, "But do not answer me now! I am going to the supply shop this very moment. Come along, have a look there, let your heart decide."

He headed on towards his car without awaiting her reaction. It gave her time to consider as they crossed the lot where a late model ivory-colored Buick was parked. He made a point to unlock and open the passenger door first. "Your chariot awaits, miss."

Stacy paused, realized she wasn't yet committed to this whole thing, and got in.

After shutting her door Upchuck unlocked his and slid into the driver's seat. He rolled the keys over in the ignition and turned down the radio knob as the car chimed. A Bob Seger tape played softly as they began to roll out of the lot. Stacy was reaching back for her seatbelt when she saw Sandi, Quinn and Tiffany walking out of the school. She gasped and turned their back to them, hunching over as she slid the seatbelt into its lock.

Upchuck laughed. "Fear not, they wouldn't even think to look in this car."

Stacy relaxed a little. It was understood and accepted that they generally did not belong in the same conversation, much less the same car. The tension was acknowledged, and somehow they were both comfortable with it. At last a topic drifted into her mind, one that would be advantageous to her. "Hey, so… what did Mr. O'Neill want us to do for that essay?"

…

The Ace of Diamonds magic shop lay on a south-facing street in the narrow span of blocks bordering downtown where businesses were interspersed among homes. It shared a building with a dry cleaning service to its right. To the left an old two-story Cape Cod house was slowly disappearing behind a curtain of overgrown trees.

A strip of sleigh bells rang merrily from where they were tied to the outgoing handle of the shop's glass door. Not seeing anyone Upchuck called out, " Hello? I have come for a new deck of cards, and I bring a new customer with me!"

"Charles, my boy!" A heavyset man, bearded and balding, leaned out from the back office. He leaned forward again and clicked off the radio broadcast baseball game. "Good to see you! And who is this lovely lassie?"

"I'm Stacy, sir," she offered with a nervous quiver in his voice. The man looked like he should be all clad in riding leathers astride a Harley. He shook her hand vigorously with a callused palm.

"Brian Masterson. Pleasure to meet you." Brian turned and shouted into the store room, "Gwen, we have a newcomer!"

A graying woman that Stacy immediately likened to Mrs. Claus appeared in the doorway, dusting her hands on a yellowed apron before shaking with Stacy. "Gwenyth. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Stacy returned, though she wasn't quite sure if she meant it. The couple looked a little scary.

"So, Charles, is she your assistant?" Brian turned and asked as though Stacy wasn't there.

She blushed. Is that really what they took her for? She paused and thought about that. Maybe it was better this way; better that nobody assumed she and Upchuck were together, like together-together.

"Perhaps," Upchuck answered. "I've not convinced her yet. I was hoping perhaps your store will give her a push in the right direction."

"Well you just look at whatever you like, miss." Gwen smiled as she turned back toward her duty in the store room. "Charles can explain almost anything here, but if you need a hand give me or Mr. Masterson a holler."

"Okay," Stacy nodded uncertainly, though she didn't actually look at the old woman. Her eyes were roving the walls and shelf displays. Hollow wands, card decks, disappearing balls in a cup, snake ropes, secret-compartment tophats. The shop was also geared toward practical jokes: peanut cans loaded with snake springs, joy buzzers, magic ink on display in the glass case beneath the register.

Upchuck concerned himself with selecting a showy new deck of holograph-backed cards while Stacy perused the store. Once that was done he followed at a respectful distance, sometimes showing her the secrets of certain tricks that would not give away his credibility. Secretly he adored watching the delight play upon her face. She was beautiful, but always a little sad. To see her eyes alight with curiosity brought on an uncontrollable smile. He would remember this expression later when he was alone.

Stacy rounded a corner into a small separate room that housed the clothing, and she gasped. The selection was limited but impressive: lycra bodysuits, glitter-laden skirts, ornate hair pieces, high-waist pants, frilly shirts, not-so-frilly shirts. Had the Fashion Club been present her interests would have been shot down by Sandi or Quinn's snide comments. But here she stood with enthusiasm unchecked. She trotted around the racks, pushed back hangers simply to observe the choices before plucking them out to be tried on.

"What say you?" Charles had sidled up beside here. The redhead looked over the clothes and purred lasciviously in approval. "If you choose to be my assistant you will be free to wear whatever pleases you. But it is not about the outfit, it is about learning the dual arts of illusion and secrecy. It is not something to be taken lightly."

Stacy looked down at the clothes, around the store at all the props and flash and glitter, back to Upchuck. Had she been more rational she would have followed the currents of her long-running fear of ostracism. However, the curiosity had gotten the best of her since the moment she watched the reassembled money trick. The shop's tricks and wardrobe merely sealed the deal. When she drew in a sharp breath he was sure she would say no. She paused just long enough to consider what this move would require. "I'll do it."

 _++To be continued++_


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

With an assistant Upchuck felt he had enough of an act to move to the next level in the art of illusion. The next day he sought out Ms. Li on his lunch break. They were both shrewd in business, and he didn't waste time in getting to the proposal: a magic show set up exclusively for himself two weeks from this Friday night. In agreement for ticket sales, he asked only a small base fee for himself and his new assistant, who had reluctantly agreed to the whole affair. Ms. Li seemed to waver in this decision until Upchuck casually mentioned that she could use the earnings for something like tracking chips in the gym equipment to keep it from vanishing, or perhaps a new P.A. system. If she found a system good enough, he claimed, she could enhance "daily reminders" for the student body during the morning announcements.

That simple statement sounded outlandish but rather useful to the principal, who recognized subliminal messages for their worth. The idea of subtle suggestions for the students had never occurred, but she felt it was possible with their impressionable young minds. Thus the magic show was approved.

In the meantime, Stacy learned and practiced every evening. She learned the art of card prediction and the sleight of hand required for the infamous ten dollar bill trick. That was first; she insisted on it.

Upchuck taught her the tricks of the trade, tenderly, as he imagine he might teach her to be a gentle lover… though he dare not say it aloud. He knew well enough that she was too delicate for the ferocity of his lusting hands. He took care to stay at a respectful distance and looked her over when she wouldn't notice. He didn't dare brush his fingers against hers when they passed off a Two of Hearts, didn't dare touch her shoulder in their broad gestures meant to distract the eye from their routine. Purposely he relaxed his pretentious vocabulary during their practices, only putting on the grand dialogue to be used for the audience once he and his assistant grew comfortable with the routine. There needed to be as little confusion and as much coordination as possible. They learned partner illusions with enthusiastic naivety, each learning the other's separate role within all the trappings played out on the stage. Stacy allowed herself to laugh long and loud with Charles when they made mistakes, rather than fitfully fretting. Without being conscious of it, she became comfortable with him.

Once she was left each night he committed the lustful thoughts to his journal pages among the pure excitement of having someone to share the enthusiasm of magic, but remained a gentleman in the lady's presence. In the end he could not admit to himself that he was simply afraid of what to do if the other sex welcomed his advances.

Stacy noticed this tactful side of the boy. While she had originally expected his perverted commentary to soar when they were alone, she was surprised to discover that he was subdued. As nice as it was to not have the world's biggest creep on her case, she was a creature who measured her self-worth in her attractiveness. And if the world's biggest creep wasn't making a move on her, something was wrong. In the end she had to admit that he wasn't as creepy as she had suspected.

And so the tentative partnership went on: evening routines in the garage followed by Charles-crafted cold cut sandwiches before Stacy's departure. Initially she couldn't bring herself to even think of eating food that Upchuck had touched, particularly with processed cheese and ham. But the sandwich included plenty of vegetables, a side of sliced carrots and bell peppers, and once he offered to cook a quick pot of tomato bisque her stomach growled. It was during one such meal on the first Saturday afternoon when he revealed his plan. A large green trunk had stood ominously in the corner of the garage that day, but neither of them mentioned it during that first hour. At last he felt his nerves were ready.

"Stacy…" Upchuck said her name carefully. It wasn't often that he simply said a girl's name. He savored it. "It is time."

She looked at him with such sudden wonder in her eyes, she forgot to swallow the bite of sandwich she had been chewing. He found the look comically endearing.

"Time?" She squeaked around a mouthful of food.

"There is the ultimate trick that I wish to perform at the show. The final act. It is the one thing that truly requires assistance, the very reason I need you."

She relaxed a little. "What is it?"

With his forefinger beckoning in a _come with me_ gesture he led her back out to the garage to fetch up one of his illusionary magic books. She got up as she finished the sandwich and paused at the sink to wash her hands. Charles had flipped to a dog-eared page with step-by-step diagram of a man and woman standing next to a large box and now handed it off to his partner as he fetched a very complicated garment from his aptly named bag of tricks.

"First, I am wrapped in a straight jacket!" He stepped over to the hold up his custom-fitted canvas and leather jacket as she followed along in the book. With the other hand he reached over by the tools and took a long chain from a nail in the wall.

"Then, my dear, once you ensure that I am unable to move-" he purred lasciviously, draping the chain over his shoulders, "you chain me up for good measure."

Stacy was already beginning to blush. She had heard people talk about whips and chains. Something to do with sex. This wasn't it, was it?

"But you must do it properly in order to facilitate my escape. Then!" Upchuck grunted as he laid down the trunk, unlatched the lid and flipped it open. He hopped inside, proclaiming dramatically, "You lay me down and lock me inside as I tell the audience that my oxygen supply is limited within the confines of this box. We shall have a password-"

"Ooh! Can it be 'daisies?'"

"Why in the world did you choose 'daisies' as the password?"

"I dunno, maybe because of those fake daisies that appear from the wand. I like daisies. It's the first thing I thought of."

Upchuck sighed, one part amusement, one part exasperation at her simplicity. "Fine, 'daisies' it shall be. It doesn't matter what it is, for you will conveniently forget once I am inside the box. Aside from the purposeful amnesia, the next part will require your finest acting."

"I don't understand," she shook her head, brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Exactly what we want the audience to think. Observe. Normal by all considerations. However," he knelt down to knock on the sides of the box. The side which hinged the lid sounded different. Flimsy, somehow. With a coy smile he unhooked the rear panel from the frame, folded it beneath him and exited the box via the opening. "A false back!"

Stacy was amazed by the intricacy of the trunk and the simplicity of the trick.

"At this point you are to distract the audience with your forgetfulness and your fear. They shall be watching you, expecting you for the next move as I crawl out the back to safety. Then, when the time is right, you give up the act and cast the attention to the floor. The spotlight follows and - ta-da! - it lands upon me unharmed and perfectly alive, a free man!"

Stacy looked from Charles to the trunk to the diagram in her hands.

"It won't work. Somebody will spot you!"

"With that attitude, yes. If we practice it until perfection then we have a chance."

A pause hung in the air as Stacy considered all the theatrics that would go into this final act. It would be a fantastic stunt if they could pull it off, and part of her craved the fame enough to agree to the task at hand. "So what do I have to do first?"

"Ah, this is what requires trust between the magician and the assistant." All the leer and lust was gone from Charles' eyes. They were terribly serious, constricted pupils darting back and forth between hers. "You must learn how to properly restrain a man in a straight jacket."

He held up the dirty white garment to explain how his arms crossed his body in order to be buckled above his elbows. Four straps on his back held the garment closed and one large strap ran between his legs from front to back. "This is why you must be comfortable and trusting enough to learn this through and through. I have enough flexibility to allow for escape, at least up to a certain point. If I am ratcheted down too tight I really cannot escape and the trick goes wrong."

He handed off the jacket for her to inspect. When she seemed satisfied with it she slipped it over Upchuck's outstretched arms. She began tightening the straps on the back. Once she reached the waist buckle she was pleased when he leaned to helpfully pull the crotch strap through so she wouldn't have to. That was all he did; beyond that he stood passively with his covered hands on his upper arms and directed her in how tight the restraints must be. Afterward came the locks and chains. It was a matter of trial and error, of course. Until this moment nobody had ever been willing to tie up Charles for any purpose.

 _++To be continued++_


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

The sky was moody that final Saturday before the show. Stacy eyed the cold gray clouds as she decided on the day's outfit. Originally she was opting for a lilac chiffon baby doll dress with lace tights and oxford shoes. That ensemble would have to wait for warmer weather, maybe tomorrow. It was already too chilly standing here in undergarments and a robe. Instead she chose a pair of leopard print jeans, a baby blue blouse and a slightly darker blue sweater to keep her warm, finished off with a white zip-up vest. She laced up a pair of beige suede ankle boots and headed out the door with a folding umbrella tucked into her bag.

When she arrived at the mall, force of habit carried her around to the south entrance… where Upchuck had set up his card table immediately after his shift at the grocery store ended. Stacy was drifting thoughtlessly toward the crowd, drawn in by the tempo of the magician's voice. Suddenly she heard Sandi's voice from near the doors. Without missing a beat Stacy changed her direction and rendezvoused with her friends just as naturally as if she had never seen Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator at all.

The Fashion Club made their rounds through Cashman's despite having scoured it only two days prior. Once they had exhausted their options they moved methodically through the remaining stores deemed acceptable to their fashion-friendly agenda. After an hour they were scattered among the quadrants of the Reming department store. The summer shipment had just arrived: sundresses, bikinis, open toed shoes were all out on display. It was the turn of season in the retail world. It was also terribly out of sync with the cool, rainy spring afternoon pouring down outside.

Stacy was making her way past the shoe department when she stopped to check her reflection in one of the mirrored pillars. She frowned at the frizzy mess that was her hair. The humidity had caused a small lock to free itself from her left braid and curl over her ear. Quickly she tucked it behind her ear and refastened her barrette before she could be chastised for being too sloppy in her appearance.

As she turned from her reflection spotted them. There they were, the shoes that had been missing from her life until this very moment. With a small excited gasp she clasped her fists against her mouth in excitement as she flounced over to them. Tapering high heels with thin straps and blue glitter all around. The crowning glory was a blue satin bow crossing each ankle. Tenderly she took one down off the plastic display rack and turned it over in her hands to inspect. It was perfect, absolutely perfect.

"That's so pretty," Tiffany had appeared at her side. She nodded slowly, approvingly. "You should totally get those."

"Let's see if they have them in my size!" Stacy nearly hopped with excitement as she flagged down the sales girl. Sure enough, there was a pair to fit her small feet. She stood up and smiled down at them. They were quite comfortable despite all appearances.

Quinn had arrived in time to watch her try them on. "Those are really cute! And they make your feet look fabulous."

Over in the young miss clothing section Sandy heard the excited tone of Stacy's voice. She also heard her friends making a commotion over something, just what it was, she wasn't sure of yet. With a glare she headed off in the direction of the shoes. Clad in a sheer chartreuse sundress with her chilly skin rising in goosebumps, Sandi took in Stacy's appearance overall. Her sensible manner of dress, her natural beauty, her radiant sense of kindness. Sandi nearly hated her for it.

"Gee, those would be are such awesome shoes, Stacy…" she began. "Too bad they make your feet look big. Like, manly big."

She let that sink in as she turned and walked toward the dressing rooms with a selection of dresses slung over her arm.

Stacy's lip quivered. For a moment her feet very nearly did look monstrously large. Tears blurred her vision and she bit her tongue very hard to hold them back. She blinked rapidly and when everything came back into focus her feet were petite as they always were. The shoes were still the best thing she had ever seen. Suddenly she was very angry at Sandi. The comment was very clearly meant to cut Stacy down, there was no denying it.

At the first sign of abuse Tiffany had immersed herself in the other new arrivals. Quinn was slinking toward the sales racks with a guilty look on her face. "I still think they look amazing."

Suddenly Stacy was very tired of feeling beaten down. Moreover, she was very tired with their treatment. With a huff she kicked off the shoes into the box, zipped up her boots and started off for the doors to the northeast entrance, not quite caring if the Fashion Club saw her making a getaway. Once outside she set off toward Upchuck's house, stopping under the awning to put up her umbrella. In her mood she completely forgot that he had been set up on the other side of the building.

At that very moment he was sitting under the rainy food court skylights hoping to catch a glimpse of her while he enjoyed a pretzel. His gear and table were dry in the trunk of his car. As the Fashion Club happened by nearly twenty minutes later he noticed her absence with a concerned quirk of his eyebrow.

"All I'm saying is you could've been a little bit nicer," Quinn was sounding rather defensive.

"I can't help it if she's too sensitive," Sandi was in a particularly foul mood. After she'd chased Stacy off she had decided to try on a pair of those fabulous blue shoes only to discover there weren't any in her size. She tramped along, very aware of her truly large feet. "If she could just learn to grow thicker skin we wouldn't have this little problem now, would we?"

Quinn opened her mouth with intent to argue that point when Tiffany interrupted. "You guys, I don't see her anywhere. Do you think she left?"

"Doubtful," Sandi shook her head with authority. "If she's anywhere she's over by the frozen yogurt stand. Let's go see."

Charles was already gone.

…

Daylight was starting to shift into a deeper gray as the evening wore on. Stacy stepped quickly, too distraught for the simple pleasure of splashing in rain puddles. Her mind circled around and around with the old anxiety, old fears of rejection. What would happen now that she had run off from a Fashion Club mall meeting? Were her friends out looking for her? It was a wonder she had enough sense to find her way to the Ruttheimers' doorstep.

The house was dark. Nobody answered the doorbell. Only then did she remember seeing his setup outside the mall. Of course, he must still be there. She sat down on the dry cement porch, realizing all at once that this practice had been the highlight of her day. Now, with nowhere to go, she sat debating her options. Chances were the Fashion Club had continued on to Tiffany's house. She could easily go there and offer an offhand explanation that would go unquestioned. It didn't seem to be a desirable option right now. She could go home, perhaps find a movie on TV or maybe even read a few chapters from the latest English class book. That wasn't quite appealing either. She sat hoping Charles would come home soon.

Which he did. The first thing he saw as he approached was the umbrella on the porch. And there huddled underneath was sweet, simple Stacy.

"Good gracious, you must be chilled to the bone!" he exclaimed dramatically after he parked and rushed to the steps.

"No, I haven't been here long," she stood slowly. Her jeans and sweater were slightly damp from the walk.

Charles unlocked the door and headed down the hall toward his room, stopping long enough to turn on the living room light for her. He returned with a dark red button up shirt in hand. "Here. If you wish I will put that top in the dryer for you. You may wear this if you're cold."

The brunette stood looking at the offered shirt uncertainly.

"Or not. Your choice. I simply thought you might be uncomfortable in wet clothes." He was turning away from her.

"Wait. I'll take it." Stacy pulled the sweater over her head. She noticed the way he watched her, and she felt powerful. She liked seeing a boy stare at her with open admiration. He even stood motionless when she held the sweater out to him. "Here you go. Low heat. It'll shrink otherwise."

"You know," he said as they traded off shirts, "I am knowledgable in the art of laundering. Domestic skills are a must."

All at once it occurred to Stacy that they had been alone this entire span of time. "Where are your parents?"

"Well, my mother is at work," he averted his gaze. "She works second shift at the hospital. I don't see my dad very often. He lives halfway across the country."

A tense second passed. Stacy was trying to think of some way to apologize without actually understanding how she had dug up such a conversation so quickly when Charles simply shrugged and took the sweater to the laundry room. The dryer emitted a few beeps as he adjusted the settings and threw in the garment.

By the time he returned she had slipped the flannel shirt over her shoulders. An hour ago she never would have entertained the notion of wearing Upchuck's clean shirt. Now she pulled the buttoned the collar around her neck and nuzzled into the soft fabric. Secretly she liked wearing his shirt. It was something that belonged to him and only him, something that was not usually offered for another. It made her feel exceptional.

Charles liked it too. The sight of a girl in a boy's shirt sent his blood rushing. He had seen it in centerfolds. It reminded him of playful early mornings after sinful late nights. They both stared a little too long at each other. _Tread carefully, Charles_ , he thought. _Don't make it too awkward._

"Scarlet is a striking color on you," he managed. She began to inspect the color of the fabric with a self-conscious smile. "Tell me, are you warm enough?"

She nodded.

"Good. Then let's eat, yes?"

…

She was quiet throughout the cooking and most of the dinner as her mind reverted back the incident in the shoe section.

"Stacy, why are you doing this?"

Her eyebrows furrowed together. She generally operated on a shallower level and did not like it when she was forced to look inward at her own ulterior motives. Several seconds passed as she processed the question and its answer. He waited with a patient face.

"I guess I really just wanted to learn how to do magic tricks."

"No, I mean, why are you straying from your social circle with the likes of me? Can you really stand the thought of performing a magic routine on stage with me in front of Lawndale High?"

When she didn't answer right away he got up, tried to dismiss his own questions by offering to refill her cup of tomato bisque. There was an awkward silence between them for a while as they ate. Only the faint kitchen radio waves filled the air. Stacy sipped her soup at first, then gulped it in an attempt to drown her nerves. Once the food was gone she got up and wandered into the garage. Charles followed her out.

"Can we open the door? The air in here is so stuffy…" she trailed off. Wordlessly he heeded her request and began setting up props, sensing that he himself had tugged at the threads which could be his undoing. She stood staring at her back as she crossed her arms self-consciously and shook her head. "I can't! I can't do it!"

His heart felt dreadfully cold. "Do you mean that?"

Again she shook her head. "I want to do this, I really do, but I can't!"

"I don't understand…" Although he understood perfectly well.

"I can't go in front of all those people dressed like a clown."

"What?" Upchuck was now genuinely confused.

The one word opened the floodgate of tears. Stacy clapped her hands over her eyes and wailed. "When I was at the mall I saw these gorgeous shoes and when I tried them on Sandi told me how big and ugly my feet look, and I had to just get away from her, and on the walk over I started thinking about how silly all this is. Everyone's going to think I'm such a weirdo!"

"Just like me." The redhead's lips were set in a thin line as he scowled at the falling rain.

She realized how hurtful her words were to him. She sobbed. "Maybe I really shouldn't be your assistant…"

"Stacy, let me ask you two things," he turned to look at her. She stepped back, for she had never seen him as grim as he was now. "If the issue of performing in front of the student body was not at all an issue, would you still want to be my assistant, to keep learning magic?"

She sniffled and nodded. "Yeah. I really do like it. It makes me feel smart for once. It makes me feel different, but in the good way. You're the only other person I know who can do magic."

He noticed the lack of hesitation in her answer. "Ah, so you are proud of skills that others do not and most likely will not ever have."

"Yes."

"Then that brings us to the next question. Would it be so bad if your friends see you differently? I mean, will this change their perception for better or worse?"

She had to think hard about that. Sandi would certainly criticize, of that she was certain. Tiffany was wishy-washy but that didn't matter to Stacy. Soon enough her pretty little head would forget all about it. Quinn was generally supportive, or at least kind enough to not shun her friend. At least, not as far as Stacy knew. As for her lesser friends? The more she thought about it the more she realized they were not close enough to scrutinize. She wished she could say their opinions didn't matter, but she knew better. That didn't quite answer the question at hand. Would they see her as a freak for her fondness of illusory magic, or would they be impressed?

"I don't know," her entire body trembled. "I really don't know."

"Very well. If you do not wish to incriminate yourself in the public eye perhaps we should part ways." There was a cautious tone in his voice, as though he didn't want to unearth such an idea. When she did not answer he added, "That's not a threat, that's a choice. _Your_ choice. And for what it's worth I don't think you could ever look like a clown unless you literally put on a clown costume."

Again she didn't reply. The rain was falling now in a soft mist. Stacy looked out at the gray world, feeling as though she was standing at a crossroads. In her mind's eyes she looked back the path she'd walked for several years. It led through the mall, the haze of school, back to her ice skating days. She had skated for herself then, nobody else. She wished to return to those carefree days.

"They were such pretty shoes, too…" she said dreamily.

"I'd certainly like to see them. Do you think they would work for the show?"

At this Stacy's heart lit up as she imagined strutting around with them on stage. She and Charles looked at each other as an idea conspired between them. He said, "And you don't even have an outfit together yet, do you?"

She shook her head. Any notion of quitting was already beginning to vanish. "I did see something really nice at the magic shop. It would match the shoes…"

Charles checked his watch. "You'll need to practice in the outfit so you're comfortable at the show. The mall is still open. I can drive you over there. If we go now we can get to Ace of Diamonds, too."

"Let's go!" Stacy was already dashing for her purse. "I'll race you!"

…

Charles was nervous and nearly sweaty in the humid air. He was also very aware that he was about to commit a severe taboo. After he swung the car into a parking space and shut off the engine he asked, "Are you sure I should walk in with you?"

Stacy's world hinged on the hierarchy of popularity. As a social bottom feeder he'd learned not to care, but this had the potential to destroy her. Upchuck hoped that she would reply without waiting just as she had before but he could not deny the sorrowful way she looked at him. She was actually considering it.

For her part, Stacy was mentally running through her list of friends. She was very angry with the Fashion Club. Not only did she not care about their collective opinion right now, she almost wanted to walk in with him simply to spite them. At any rate they probably weren't even there. God forbid they miss a meeting and go look for Stacy. There were other fair-weather friends she might come across and they might have something to say at school. But right now she couldn't think of a single one that mattered.

She slid out of the car and gestured for Charles to follow, still wearing his shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In her opinion it looked quite fashionable with the rest of her outfit. Never one for vulgarity, she took her time shaping the words in her mouth. "To hell with what anybody else thinks."

 _++To be continued++_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: 'Alright' isn't supposed to be acceptable. I have memories of several English teachers harping about that, though some of the other lessons faded over time - those forgotten lesson are reflected in my writing. For the sake of conversation the word acceptable here._

 **6**

Stacy's pulse flittered as she rushed around backstage with only minutes before the show was set to begin, trying to ignore the roar of voices from a surprisingly large audience. Force of self-conscious habit compelled her to adjust her gloves yet again and wonder if she would sweat through her costume. An extra application of antiperspirant was doing nothing but make her smell strongly of cucumber melon. She peeked through the curtains at the assembly of students and parents. Bad idea, now she was _definitely_ going to sweat through her costume.

"Ready for the levitating rope trick, my sapphire angel?" Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator smoothed down the white polyester suit that she didn't much care for, nevermind the fact that his shoes didn't match. She would never tell him, of course.

She realized she was almost hyperventilating and shook her head. "Um, could I have another minute?"

"Of course."

She glanced into the backstage mirror at her beloved fluffy plume headband, the same one Sandi had spotted in a photo just prior to her remark about show ponies. The timid brunette cautiously resituated the hairpiece. Sandi was out there with the rest of the Fashion Club, though she didn't know why any of them would choose to do such a thing; after all, weren't they laughing at his sidewalk act only a few weeks ago?

Charles stole a glance at her while she fixed her hair. Reading her high-strung body language, he smiled reassuringly. "I'm scared too. I've never been in front of an audience this size."

She turned and stared, wide-eyed at the realization that this was a first for both of them. Strange, in this light he almost looked handsome.

He said, "If they're amused by a fool like me, they will love you."

The thought of everyone's attention nearly made her wobble. She must have swayed a little because Charles' hand was suddenly on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Stacy stood with her eyes closed for a moment, taking in the sensation of his hand. It was warm and heavy and grounding. In this moment when everything else felt surreal, even the nervous electricity in her own body, his touch kept her calm.

"Yes," she said slowly. She looked at him then and saw the same apprehension on his face. Up until this very moment, she realized, he had always radiated confidence. But he was just as terrified as she was, only he was better at wearing a mask and projecting his voice. Well, if he could keep it together, so could she. "Are _you_ alright, Charles?"

His heart missed a beat when she unexpectedly said his given name and not that repulsive moniker. Her eyes were bright and questioning like they had been lately. It seemed as though she had become more critically aware since they began this whole endeavor, and now he could see her scrutinizing him. She was _concerned_ about him. Charles smiled, though it was not his typical leer. It was genuinely happy. He was thrilled and keenly aware that he was living in a moment that would be engraved into his memory forever. "I'm better than alright. I'm feeling more alive than I ever have."

Stacy smiled at that. With her eyes closed she drew in an energizing breath. "Tell Ms. Li to start the introduction. I'm ready."

Almost immediately she questioned her own words as the murmur of the crowd died and the principal droned outside the curtain, because that was her nature. Too late, the act was in motion. She marched out in her best supermodel swagger onto the stage.

Charles puffed his chest with pride and lifted his arms as he belted out, "Greetings, magic aficionados!"

Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator and his dazzling assistant took their places on either side of the prop table. Both were astounded by how bright and hot the spotlight was, and how they suddenly could not see the crowd from up here. There was only a sea of blackness before them, giving them the sense that they were in their own little world. It was going to be so much easier now.

"You expect the mundane feats of trickery," he said to the crowd as he pulled an improbable number of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve. "Fear not, your expectations shall be met. And they shall be exceeded!"

He shuffled his trusted cards in an arc from one hand to the other, folded them all together, and smoothly raised the king of diamonds from the deck. He passed the cards off to Stacey in the same arc fashion. She turned to face the crowd and repeated the trick, this time levitating the queen of diamonds.

The show stirred up whispers in the crowd and waves of laughter as Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator narrated their actions, partially as a distraction in order for their trickery to work. They ran through every trick they knew, everything from disappearing coins to the rope trick. With the crowd now properly awed, they took up the restraints for the final act.

"Be gentle, my sweet. I have a delicate… everything." There was the usual Upchuck charm played up for the audience.

"I hope I'm doing this right," Stacy projected her voice, looping the chains as she'd done many times.

"No complaints on this end," Charles purred. "As soon as I am fully bondaged I will enter this steel reinforced trunk, which Stacy will close and lock from the outside."

And with that, he folded into the trunk. A large padlock was hooked through the latch.

"Oh no! What do I do next?" Stacy said in a stage whisper.

Her heart pounded harder than ever as she waited for him to knock. There was a scripted moment of silence while he loosened the chains and wriggled out of the jacket, though she could not help wondering if she'd fastened everything all wrong as that minute dragged out.

Inside the trunk Charles freed himself and began to kick. This and his shouting would provide cover noise while he opened the back panel. He said loudly, knowing she was unable to hear him clearly, "Did you remember the password, dear partner? Daisies, it's daisies. And little do you know, you shall have an entire bouquet of them."

From outside it was nothing but Charles' muffled and slightly nasal voice. However, Stacy was certain she heard the password and began to nervously bounce up and down on her toes. The movement caught the light and cast it back in little shimmers, drawing some of the crowd's attention away.

With the panel open Charles slithered out and kept himself curled tight behind the trunk as he secured the back, but not before giving the inside one more dramatic kick. From the corner of her eye Stacy could see him right below her and did not let her gaze so much as flicker. Instead she tried to let the stage fright rise up and found herself forcing the tears. Before the show she thought she would end up a crying mess within the first five minutes, now she was calm and lucid.

As she began to weep, Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator lay motionless, giving enough time for all eyes to be on her before making a move. He dared to turn his head slightly and look up at her long, shapely legs in that delectable white hosiery. Her preciously tiny feet moved a little, and he found himself smiling at those glittery blue shoes. They were quite striking, especially so on her. He reached out and touched her ankle, the signal they agreed upon to alert her that he was making his way backstage. This time it was not a simple touch. In the heat of the moment he caressed her leg softly just as he'd always wanted to do, then he crawled underneath a conveniently curtain behind the stack of props and was gone.

That tender contact electrified them both. Stacy had been felt up before, which was usually how she put it to her friends. There was no sense of intimacy with other boys, only urgency. She knew Charles wanted to touch her and she was surprised with herself to discover that she wanted it. So when the trace of his fingers lingered it felt so different from anything she'd experienced, a soft moan escaped her lips. In front of the entire school. Luckily it blended with her fake tears, but the sudden embarrassment brought on a real flood and she really started to get on with the wailing then.

"What's taking so long? I rented out this auditorium and the Single Scientologists will be here in less than an hour," Ms. Li impatiently walked onstage.

"He was supposed to signal me! Something's wrong!" Stacy's voice rose hysterically.

"Panic! Panic! I foresee a massive hike in insurance premiums!" The dollar signs were practically flashing in the principal's eyes.

Mr. DeMartino, eloquently disgruntled as always, climbed up onto the stage with a convenient crowbar. "Who do I always end up bailing out the naïve and/or incompetent when their ill-conceived plans go awry?!"

"It's just like a man to be here one minute and gone the next." Ms. Barch was here now, kicking the trunk.

The spotlight slipped off Stacy. She took it as her cue to move out into the crowd where she saw her friends looking on in amusement. Unsure of where else to stand, she gravitated toward them. For a moment she thought she would have to consciously ramp up her tears. As it turned out, her social anxiety was not so bad on stage as it was next to the Fashion Club President.

"C'mon! Rigid, stubborn box of death!" Mr. DeMartino yelled. "Yield, I say! Yield!"

"No goodbye, not even a note after I gave you the best years of my life!" Ms. Barch worked out a bit of her pent-up aggression.

Mr. and Mrs. Masterson sat front and center in the audience, both dressed in their best clothes which, of course, included a few subdued sequins. They watched the entire spectacle with knowing grins. As Stacy looked on, Gwen raised a camera and took a snapshot of the unfolding chaos.

"Stacy, it's just tragic how you so completely embarrassed yourself," the Fashion Club president sneered. Even through the tears in her eyes Stacy noticed the way Sandi's furrowed eyebrows and down-turned mouth were going to eventually give her permanent frown lines.

"Yeah, you freaked out," Tiffany chimed in.

"And your mascara, it's not even waterproof! Oh, I can't look," Quinn turned away.

In her characteristically nasty tone Sandi said, "Good thing Upchuck's buried alive in there so you won't have to spend the rest of your life seeking revenge for the way he's humiliated you in front of the whole school."

Stacy's tears dried upon hearing that. Charles treated her better than her friends ever had, a fact that was coming to light only now. Through a sour smile she said loud enough for all to hear, "Oh Sandi, you are so naïve."

"Huh?" Sandi was not used to her minion talking back.

Just then the crowbar's leverage popped open the empty trunk.

"Where is he?" Mr. DeMartino was confused.

Ms. Barch kept up her rant, "Probably chatting up some tootsie in a roadside tavern, complaining how he and his wife haven't slept in the same bed since-"

"He's back there!" Mr. D pointed in amazement.

The lighting tech caught sight of shimmering clothes and swung the spot out into the crowd to reveal Charles the Prestidigitator who stood waving proudly on the stairs. "Shazam!"

Stacy turned from her clique and marched away without so much as a glance over her shoulder, leaving them with their mouths hanging open. The pair resumed their place on the stage. Charles clasped her gloved hand with his and raised it as they bowed. "Let's hear it for my lovely and very talented assistant Stacy and her Oscar-worthy acting job. Your crocodile tears bring out the tiger in me."

It seemed to both of them that their hearts had been running on high since long before the opening curtain. Now as the floor lights amped up and illuminated the crowd's standing ovation their adrenaline began to run out.

So many familiar faces! There were her friends scattered throughout the crowd. Mr. and Mrs. Masterson were front and center, applauding madly while the old magician whistled in approval. Their parents sat in the front row just seats away from each other. Stacy was shaking as Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator reached into the folds of his oversized suit coat and summoned a concealed bouquet of daisies for her to hold as they joined hands for the final bow.

"We made it," Charles said softly as the curtain slid closed.

…

The next quarter hour was a rush of greetings with audience members, namely the parents and the Mastersons. Sandi had ordered the Fashion Club out of the building for an emergency meeting immediately after the show, therefore they were no immediate threat. Stacy was happy that they were gone by the time she stepped out to visit, for once unconcerned with what they may be talking about at that very moment. Nothing could ruin the night.

After Charles and Stacy shyly introduced themselves to each other's parents, they excused themselves back to the stage where the props needed to be cleared before the Single Scientologist Club's arrival, removed their gloves, and got to work. Everything was packed into the trunk, carried backstage by the door. Just as they set it down a deliveryman called out in the hallway, "Hello? Somebody called in a pizza to be delivered at 8:30?"

"Now that's magic," Charles smiled at the man's timing. With the pizza in hand, they sat on the trunk to eat. Each had one half of the medium pie, as both were famished now that the rush of the show had passed. Neither spoke a word as they at in relative silence, with only the chatter of the nearby Single Scientologists Club to fill the lull.

After the meal, Stacy made her way to the women's dressing room. She reluctantly shed the assistant's uniform, felt the skirt's tulle and the bodice's sequins before she hung it up. Clad in dark jeans and a blue open-neck sweater, she glanced at her reflection as she buckled the new shoe's glittery straps and saw that she'd managed to dress without disturbing the forgotten plume headband. The shoes and feather looked a little out of sync with her outfit, and she rather liked the look. With a confident smile and a small adjustment of her hair she took her belongings, turned out the light, and stepped out into the dressing room commons.

In the men's dressing room, Charles stood in jeans and a white rolled-sleeve shirt with a deep breath of air swelled in his chest and his hands on his hips. He gave the mirror a cheeky smile and smugly wiggled one eyebrow, feeling a pride like he'd never known before.

As they stepped out together, Stacy took up the bouquet of flowers, openly admiring them.

"They're beautiful," she whispered to the white petal-laced blooms. "Nobody has ever given me flowers before."

"You said you like daisies," he tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"You remembered…" Stacy was impressed. She looked at him with the same intensity she'd felt as when she waited for him to escape safely, remembering his gentle touch on her leg, and without a further thought she leapt at him, knocking him backwards onto the trunk.

Their lips locked awkwardly at first. Charles pulled back, lifted her chin with his hand, and slowly returned her kiss, this time with all the sweet lust that he'd held back until now. Stacy began to melt on top of him, and as he felt ecstatic surges rush through him, he sat up to gently push her away. He wanted more, certainly, but he needed space between their bodies.

"Slowly, my sweet," he gasped. "You were about to ignite a fire that would burn us both."

Stacy made no further move, but she began to think about what that might feel like. She wondered aloud, "Now what?"

Charles wanted to say he would bring her every flower under the sun; that he would take her to the ends of the earth - or at least the ends of Lawndale; he wanted the pleasure to be by her side every day, just as he had been these past few weeks.

Best not to frighten the girl with such bright dreams. Instead he coyly offered, "Now? Mid-terms are coming up, so time to study. Then spring break. I'm going to visit family, and I'll be gone the whole time. And after that, it's the renaissance festival."

He turned his gaze sideways toward her, eyeing her up and down as he recalled, "You were dressed like royalty, if memory serves. You wore the aesthetic well."

Rather than ask to escort her to the fair, he left the compliment to hang in the air while he offered his arm to her. As she took him by the elbow, he picked up the flowers that had tumbled to the floor during their makeout. "Don't forget these."

"Okay, but…" Stacy took the flowers once more, turned her eyes to the polyester suit jacket that Charles had draped over his shoulders. She stepped in close, noticing the flash of blush in his cheeks as she reached into the breast pocket and withdrew the magic wand. A simple tap against her hand spread the fake daisies within. "I like these more."

 _++To be continued++_


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Stacy slept in that morning. The first thing she saw was the bouquet of daisies arranged around the unfurled flower wand in a blue vase on the dresser.

After breakfast she drew a bath with scented salts, settled into the water and soaked until the water cooled. She combed out her hair, took her time with her skin care routine before applying her best makeup. She put on her trusty black jeans and lime tank top, though she left the denim jacket on the hook as she eyed the blue shoes parked on the rainbow rug under the full-length mirror. She slipped them on and buckled the straps. They were very loud shoes indeed but she could make them work. Even now they went with her favorite outfit. Suddenly she remembered Charles' unreturned scarlet shirt still hanging on the bedpost. When she slipped it on she discovered the rich red went surprisingly well with the green and black and blue. Not a color combination she'd ever considered before. She turned on the radio and flopped back onto the bed, raised her feet overhead and smiled up at the glittering heels.

The Fashion Club Saturday meeting was due to start in half an hour at the mall. Stacy didn't flinch when she noticed the time. She was too busy to deal with their antics last night and she hadn't returned Quinn's call. Today she simply didn't care to see them.

With the television on and tuned to MTV for background noise, she slid down to the floor and took out her picture box. Atop the stack were numerous photographs of the Fashion Club striking poses in their best clothes. Those shots were taken mostly by the boys who hung around, often Joey, Jeffy or Jamie. The one taking the picture was usually no photographer at all, thus the prints were typically blurred or off-center. Stacy unfolded this morning's community section of the newspaper that rested on her desk, took scissors from the drawer, and carefully clipped out an article about the magic show complete with a professional candid photo. She set them before her and studied them for quite some time with a faint smile. Finally she returned the pictures to their rightful place in the box under the bed, then turned and dug through the closet. There in the back was a mesh sports bag containing a pair of blue leather skates. She turned them over and removed the blade guards. The metal could use a bit of sharpening but the skates were nearly as pristine as the day they were new.

She heard her mother downstairs as Mrs. Rowe picked her car keys up off the table.

"Mom, wait!" Stacy slung the skates over her shoulders and raced out to the car. "Can you drop me off at the skating rink?"

…

Charles was awake late into the night, falling asleep as he clung to the feeling of rapture, and awake early in the morning when he lay in bed, reliving last night's events over and over.

He leisurely went through his grooming routine. Freshly showered, scented with cologne, and his hair tamed with pomade, he went to the kitchen to cook a full breakfast for himself and his mother.

Then he removed the trunk full of props from out of his car and stashed it away under a table in the garage. Ruttheimer the Prestidigitator was taking a break. A few items were left out, such as the pack of cards, for those were to be practiced every day in order to maintain skill. Charles did so, a satisfied smile touching his lips as he raised the queen of diamonds. He tucked the cards into his breast pocket, went to the closet and took his mandolin out of its case, plucked a few strings and tuned them up. Finally, he strummed out the first notes of a new song that was forming in his head.

 _++End++_


End file.
